Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
And to further their point, the guy slaps her ass. The sound bounces off the walls in the room they’re in, making them laugh.
“Next,” the guy says, and the one who slapped her ass removes her from the hook on the wall and carries her out of the frame. The video stops.
I run a hand down my face and set his phone on my desk.
Getting up from my chair, I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Las Vegas. It’s three o’clock in the morning. I only ever open the thick black curtains at night to see the lights from the Strip illuminate the town. It’s the only time I care to see this city.
“How much?” I ask. For whatever reason, he’s decided he wants her.
“Ten million,” he answers, opening his eyes and staring out over Sin City. His jaw clenches.
“Why her?” I ask. He’s got a wife. Maybe Haven wants her. Maybe she’s realized just what goes on behind the scenes of the Mafia, and she saw the video and wants to save her. Women always get emotional.
He pushes off the window and turns to face me. “That woman you just saw is Mia Rosa Bianchi. My baby sister.”
CHAPTER TWO
BONES
I SIT AT the table tucked back in the corner of a ballroom in New York City. I come to the city often. Sometimes for business, but mostly for play. This trip is neither one of those. This is an elite auction. Only the wealthiest, most sadistic pricks attend. Tonight, I’m playing the role of one of those.
The large ballroom is dimly lit, and elevator music plays softly from the speakers above. Rows and rows of round tables are on either side of an aisle. A stage stands at the front of the room, and a black satin curtain hangs behind it from the ceiling to the floor. Women wearing tiny black shorts and matching lace bras walk around with trays, serving the guests. Men dressed in three-piece suits that cost more than most homes pass out numbered paddles to each attendee. No names are needed, I was told when I paid my fee to enter. Ten grand was what they charge for a “plate.”
“It’s for charity.” That’s what the man said. “To feed the starving children for two years.”
I snort, taking a drink of my bourbon. Really? Don’t they see the irony?
Not that I don’t want to feed the starving children in Africa. The Kings and I do our fair share of donating to charities all around the world. But there has to be a better way for them to collect money other than kidnapping and selling women.
My cell vibrates, and I pull it out of my suit pocket to see it’s from Luca.
Luca: Are you there?
Me: Yes. The auction is about to start.
Luca: Thanks again. I owe you.
I don’t even bother to respond. What are friends for?
“Here you go, sir.” A man places a small black book down on the table in front of me.
I reach for it, opening the soft leather and skimming it over. It’s a menu of the women being auctioned off. I run a hand down my face while I scan the pages. No photos, just names and information about each girl. I should have brought Cross—another King—with me. He would have just set the place on fire, and then we could have rescued all these women. But no one knows I’m here except for Luca. The Kings think I’m in the city to “play.” When I told them I had to go to New York, they all laughed and nodded like they thought I was coming to get my dick wet for the weekend.
If only.
My eyes get to the last page, and I read her name—Mia Rosa Bianchi. They made her the main event. No price or starting bid. I’m not surprised. Her name alone is what will bring in the cash. Besides her name, it states the two most important things about her. She’s twenty and innocent.
A virgin? Fuck, for some reason, that makes the video of her I watched ten times worse.
The lights dim, bathing us almost in complete darkness, and I notice the numbers on my paddle glow. Now it makes sense. Easier for them to see who is holding up what. The spotlights that cover the stage turn on. The music fades until you can no longer hear it, and a woman who looks to be in her fifties walks onto the platform, microphone in hand. She gives the crowd a smile, dressed in a white satin dress that resembles a wedding gown. It’s tightly fitted with a V-neck, showing off her large fake tits and long train, but she has no wedding ring on her finger. Makes me think she’s using this opportunity to be the bride she dreamed of. “Good evening, gentlemen. I want to thank you for your generous donations tonight. The auction will begin in ten minutes.”